


on a day like this (it feels like summer)

by motorghost



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: A Really Weird Beach Episode, Alternate Universe, Anal Sex, Fluff and Angst, Gabriel Reyes Doesn't Have Time For This Shit, Hook-Up, Humor, Lifeguard Jesse McCree, M/M, McHanzo Week 2020, Mission Fic, Semi-Public Sex, Smut, Sort Of, Strangers to Lovers, Time Travel, Undercover Missions, Wave Hanzo Shimada
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-24
Updated: 2020-08-24
Packaged: 2021-03-06 21:07:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,480
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26075368
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/motorghost/pseuds/motorghost
Summary: Jesse enjoys cushy undercover work as a lifeguard on a small, calm beach with a handsome local fisherman, but summer can't last forever.Or can it?[McHanzo Week 2020 Day 1: Sands/Tides]
Relationships: Jesse McCree/Hanzo Shimada
Comments: 14
Kudos: 109





	on a day like this (it feels like summer)

**Author's Note:**

> This is... somewhat crack-y, in that it deals with a beach where time stops, but I've decided to take it very, very seriously. lol
> 
> It will be a two-parter! I will resume this story after mchanzo week, and no other prompt will be anywhere near this long so help me God. Also, this was very much written in one sitting and was not beta'ed.
> 
> Hanzo and Jesse are somewhat younger in this fic, closer to their early 30's. Blackwatch/Scion days, more or less.
> 
> Also I was heavily inspired by robo-cryptid's "Catch and Release" fic, which you should definitely check out if you haven't yet.  
> archiveofourown.org/works/25993567  
> This is also partly based off of a HC of mine and robo's that Hanzo is a jock who only knows how to flirt with his muscles.
> 
> The title was pulled from Childish Gambino's song, "Feels Like Summer." 
> 
> EXTREMELY NSFW

‘’

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  
  
  
  


Posing as a lifeguard is just about the easiest cover Jesse’s ever had. He gets to sit in the sun all day, there’s plenty of time to read, and he rarely has to talk to anyone. The beach is small enough that it only attracts locals and the waves are calm enough that there’s little chance of someone actually needing his assistance. If he assists anyone, it’s old people with their umbrellas or kids with their volleyball net. If anyone ever approaches him, it’s usually to ask for directions or his number, and both of those interactions are always short: he’s too unfamiliar with the town to give good directions and Reyes gave him strict instructions _vis a vis_ dalliances while under cover. Instructions that may or may not have risen out of past experiences.

The only tough part is that he has to be out there before dawn to do routine inspection and to make sure he’s at his post before the early risers. The frequency with which he takes smoke and/or vending machine breaks tends to climb as the sun starts its descent, but that’s not a problem. No one is looking over his shoulder for once. He doesn’t need to play the proper soldier boy out here.  
  
“Excuse me.”  
  
Jesse turns from the vending machine and his eyes immediately make a slow trek down, then up, then down and up again. The man behind him is stunningly handsome and exactly Jesse’s type: jacked, tattooed, with dark, sleek eyes and cheekbones worth writing home about. He’s wearing a gray hooded vest and blue board shorts featuring waves at the lower hem, which might be in bad taste, but no one's ever accused Jesse of knowing where to draw the line between good taste and bad.

Usually quick on his feet and never rude, shame sweeps in like a rip tide. Jesse tries to apologetically remove a hat that isn’t there, adding to already mounting awkwardness. “Sorry, uh—”

He steps to the side just as the man starts pressing forward; if he hadn’t moved, the guy would’ve undoubtedly clipped his shoulder. Those hawkish brows are cut in a permanent frown and there’s a set to those perfect lips that paint the picture of one mean sonuvabitch. Great—even moreso Jesse’s type. Damn Reyes’s orders; he’d be a fool not to say something.

But the cowboy just stands there while the guy scans his card, takes his packet of frozen alcoholic beverage, and stalks away.

Just as Jesse starts cursing himself at a high frequency, he catches the man looking back at him; the quickest, most furtive of glances, but unmistakable. Jesse smiles, but the man turns away too fast to notice.

 _Some quickdraw you are._ Jesse mutters curses all the way back to the lifeguard stand, seagulls braying like they’re mocking him.

But hours later, when the sun is just about to set and the beach is close to shutting down, Jesse hears a cough and turns his head to see the man standing below. Only now his vest is zipped open and he’s carrying a massive bow. Wait, no—it’s a bow, but fitted with fishing line. He catches fish by shooting them with _arrows?_  
  
“Hey,” says Jesse.

"Hanzo,” says the man.  
  
Jesse takes way too long to register that he’s being given a name. “Jesse McCree,” he replies, completely forgetting his cover name.

Hanzo looks him over as if he’s searching for something. He’s obviously a regular at this beach; getup notwithstanding, there’s a tan to his skin and the kind of glisten you only get from a regular doses of sunscreen and ocean spray. Jesse swallows, feeling very much as if he hadn’t just drank a whole orange soda.  
  
Then the guy smirks and steps away. “Nice to meet you.”

Once again, Jesse is too stunned to respond, but not solely because of the man’s beauty. What _was_ that? Who makes an introduction and then just... leaves?

It’s not until Jesse is packing up to return to his temporary bungalow that he wonders: was that supposed to be flirting?

‘’  
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

The days blur together. Jesse hasn’t spent a lot of time around the ocean, and on a deeper level he thinks he might be a little afraid of it, but he has to admit to its soothing affect. The endless horizon, the peaceful drone. The cool, salty breeze on top of his sun-warmed skin. The waves’ repetition lull him into the kind of hypnotic state that isn’t exactly conducive to reconnaissance work, but he can't say he minds. If it weren’t for the varieties in the cloud patterns and sunset colors, he could easily be fooled into thinking that every day is the same.

Once upon a time, this was the kind of life he wanted. Maybe more inland, maybe spending his time with animals and canyons rather than swimmers and sand, but there’s something mighty appealing about the way the day stretches between whatever he wants to do and the few acts of service he _chooses_ to do. 

He almost wishes Gabe and the rest could see him like this; he’s a much more pleasant person. But even thinking about them pulls him out of it, makes him wonder if their presence wouldn't shatter the illusion. So he sends a couple text updates but neglects any actual voice calls. There’s no sign of the target yet anyway. Nothing to report.

And Jesse’s got eyes for a different kind of target now. Hanzo has shown up every day since their first meeting. Jesse’s sort of astonished that he didn’t notice him before; he posts up on the largest rocky outcropping with his bow and his cooler and fishes from before noon until the sun sets. He doesn't talk to anyone, and only leaves his post to fetch those terrible frozen drink packets and use the facilities. Sometimes he tosses his catch on the lower rocks for them to eat. From what little Jesse knows about fishing, he wonders if Hanzo shouldn’t be trying earlier in the morning, but the man brings in at least a couple big fish every day. 

Jesse tries to wave a few times, but Hanzo only ever waves back. He always wears some type of open vest or neglects a shirt entirely and he’s strutted right past Jesse’s lifeguard stand enough times now that Jesse is sure the guy is peacocking _hard,_ but it never goes further than that.

It’s just cute/pathetic enough for Jesse to buy two frozen daiquiri packets the minute he realizes what’s going on and breaks for lunch.

“Looks like thirsty work,” he says.

Hanzo turns as if startled, which doesn’t surprise Jesse; no one ever approaches Hanzo. It makes sense when you see those wild eyes and that huge bow up-close. “Jesse.”  
  
“Howdy.” The cowboy feels slightly self-conscious with his bad blonde dye-job and farmer’s tan, but he extends both daiquiri packets with a grin all the same. “Didn’t see which flavor you got last time, so I got mojito and mai tai. Your choice.”

“I usually prefer the pina colada,” Hanzo mutters, “But thank you.” He takes the mai tai.

“You like sweet stuff?” Jesse grins, opening his own packet.

“I do,” says Hanzo, scanning Jesse much the same way he did when he introduced himself. There’s a pause in which Jesse observes Hanzo’s eyes darting around like he’s searching for a conversation topic, sipping his drink noiselessly. “Your boss doesn’t mind you drinking on the job?”

A good enough start. “Eh, I could probably down a dozen of these before it got me too drunk to do this job. Easiest beach I’ve ever sat,” he drawls, remembering at least some of his background story as a seasonal lifeguard slash community college writing professor.

“It is a calm one,” Hanzo replies, looking out at the waves. Jesse sees a small, longing smile there and remembers his morning musing on the kind of life he used to want. “There is a drop-off here,” Hanzo waves his hand to the edge of the rock, “The current is far from the beach and relatively gentle, but enough to support large fish here.”

“You fishermen all the time?” Jesse eyes Hanzo’s bow, distracted, then belatedly realizes that it looks like he’s staring right at Hanzo’s crotch. “I mean... you a fisherman?”

Hanzo smirks and those coiled shoulders seem to relax. “I am for this summer.”

“What’s your usual gig?”

“...Contracts.”

“Oh.” Jesse assumes that means he’s a lawyer and mentally vows to be less loose-lipped. “Well, you seem like a pro. Don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone fish with a bow and arrow before.”

Hanzo smiles again. “Would you like to learn?”

Jesse would’ve said yes to anything Hanzo'd suggested, but he regrets it all as soon as the bow is in his hands. He’s shot a bow before, but never one like this, and never at darting fish through less-than-crystal-clear water. Hanzo is generous with his teaching and graceful with Jesse’s mistakes, but it isn’t long before he requests a demonstration just to get the thing out of his hands. It's for the best; Hanzo gets to show off some real skill and Jesse gets to watch him blush when he whistles at the good-sized seabass Hanzo pulls in.

“You’re a pro alright,” says Jesse, hands on his hips. “I’d need a lot more practice before I could get to that level.”

“You have a good eye,” Hanzo remarks, and Jesse guffaws, trying maybe too hard to distract from the accuracy of Hanzo’s compliment. “With some instruction, you could be quite good.”

“Well, I am a fast learner,” Jesse drawls, practically injecting the syrup into his voice. “And I do enjoy learnin’ new things.”

Hanzo cases him with his eyes again, only this time with an intensity that wasn't there before. “That's lucky, because I thoroughly enjoy teaching.”

It takes only a few more coded phrases for Jesse to continue his ‘break’ by escorting Hanzo to the bamboo changing rooms. They slip unnoticed into one of the larger ones, which is still barely big enough for both men to turn around in, but the tropical-canvas drape is blessedly long enough to disguise what they’re doing.

The noises Hanzo draws out of Jesse are less stealthy. They’re both chuckling and grasping for one another without discretion, but it’s Hanzo who keeps his wits enough to playfully scold, “Hush." He tugs Jesse’s hair though it only makes the cowboy groan louder. “I wouldn’t want you to get fired.”

“Ain’t gonna get fired,” Jesse breathes out, licking up Hanzo’s salty, sunscreen-slicked throat.

“Cocky,” Hanzo scoffs, though it doesn’t sound like true disapproval. He grips Jesse through his swim trunks then reaches across to Jesse’s bulging pocket. “Well, well, well,” Hanzo chuckles, tugging out a small bottle of lube and two condoms. _“Very_ cocky.” Hanzo taps one of the condoms against Jesse's chin. "Delusional, even."

“I just, ahh,” Jesse winces with both pleasure and pain when Hanzo grips the root of him, “I just like bein’ prepared, sweetheart.”

“Then prepare yourself.” Hanzo pushes the lube into Jesse’s hand and leans until his back is resting against the wall. He nudges down his own shorts until they tuck underneath his balls and starts stroking himself, slow and lazy, eyeing Jesse as if they have all the time in the world.

Jesse certainly wasn’t counting on using the supplies, especially with how severely their very presence undermines every stipulation of this mission, but right now he can only pat his own back for being so optimistic. With a low chuckle, he turns to face the wall, then pushes down his own shorts and takes as wide a stance as he can so Hanzo has a good view.

Both of them do a much better job at keeping quiet, but Jesse can still hear Hanzo’s deep, hoarse breaths. He can also feel Hanzo’s eyes as his own fingers reach and stretch, using half the bottle's contents to open himself up as much as he thinks Hanzo’s thick cock will require. A rough hand tugs on one of his cheeks, spreading it even more and Jesse feels his groin pulse in response. Maybe it's the heat, but he's already feeling a bit light-headed.

“Alright, alright,” he pants, bending over as much as possible. “C’mon.”

Hanzo lets out a low, growling sigh that’ll haunt Jesse for the rest of his days as he strokes and squeezes Jesse's ass. He takes the bottle, then pushes in his own fingers, kissing the trembling muscles of Jesse's upper back. Then he pushes aside one cheek, lines himself up and slowly pushes inside, humming when the head finally slips through; Jesse sighs out, arching his back even more.

The condom does nothing to hide Hanzo's radiating heat or how hard he feels inside; Jesse has to trap his groans with his own hand. Once fully seated, Hanzo replaces that hand with his own and leaves the sweetest kisses on Jesse’s back as he begins to gently move. The way his hips nod tells Jesse that he’s searching for his prostate, and when he finds it, Jesse's grateful for the hand blocking his mouth; the sudden whine that shoots up from his gut would be more than enough to get them caught.

It takes a couple stumbling seconds for Hanzo to find his footing and for Jesse to let his shorts fall completely to the ground before Hanzo starts fucking him in earnest, tugging on Jesse’s hair with one hand and keeping him quiet with the other. Then it’s just the wet noises of their meeting bodies and tempered breaths, a box of heat and orange-tinted sunlight barely scraping through the top of the bamboo. Hanzo seems to want to fuck Jesse hard and fast, but every time he gets going, the sound gets too loud and he pauses while he's balls-deep inside, hissing loud enough for Jesse to feel in his bones.

The gunslinger groans out curses against Hanzo’s palm; now he's fucking him slow and deep, which is much more than Jesse’s equipped to handle. He’s used to a jackrabbit pace but now it feels like Hanzo is grinding against his prostate just to make him go crazy. Soon it’s just the hand over his mouth and the other on his shoulder holding him up as Jesse uses both of his own hands to stroke himself feverishly. He feels like he might pull something, his back is so bowed, but the angle is way too good for him to even think about moving out of Hanzo’s grip. Hanzo mutters something in low, goading Japanese and Jesse's vision swim.

The thought of getting caught, of someone seeing Hanzo indulgently churning in and out of him while Jesse’s jaw hangs open in silent sobs, pushes him over the edge much faster than he intended. Hanzo whispers through it, encouraging him like he’s doing something praiseworthy as Jesse tries to capture the spill in his hands.

Then Hanzo pulls him flush against his chest and those strong arms holding him tight is enough to make Jesse’s spent cock try and come back to life. He bends his legs into an awkward stance to get Hanzo to fuck up into him the way he wants, but there’s nothing awkward about how it feels; Hanzo is now reaming him to within an inch of his life, noises be damned. Jesse manages to draw even more from his own cock as Hanzo hits his peak, pumping into Jesse with his teeth on his skin and that hand blocking all of Jesse’s air.

But he soothes as he pulls out, petting up and down Jesse’s panting ribs and kissing his back again. He turns the cowboy around and they meet lips as if they’d both just run a marathon, more smiling with their foreheads pressed together than anything else.

By the time Jesse’s caught his breath and his vision has stopped swimming, Hanzo has tied off the condom and tossed it into the small waste basket in the corner. Jesse looks down at his hands, having nothing to wipe them on, but then Hanzo makes his heart skip again by taking him by the wrists and licking his fingers clean until Jesse is half-hard all over again.

“We gotta do this again,” Jesse breathes out, uncaring how eager he sounds.

Hanzo looks down with something like a secret at the corner of his crooked grin. “We should.”

It’s not an outright ‘yes,’ but Jesse is too high to let that bother him. He kisses Hanzo, tasting himself through their rough tongues, then leaves a lighter, softer kiss on Hanzo’s cheek. “See you later, sweetheart.” He steps out first, trying his damndest to look innocent while being unable to do anything about the big, stupid grin he knows is plastered on his face. Luckily, no one seems to care where he's been or what he's been doing.

He’s at his post for another whole half hour before he sees Hanzo return to his rocky outcropping. He can’t tell anything from the man’s posture, but for his own part, he’s never been so happy about sitting so uncomfortably. This is already the best cover job Jesse's ever had; if Hanzo doesn’t get cold feet, it’s only liable to get better.

~ ~ ~ ~‘’~ ~

Days pass before they speak again. Jesse figures he’s been the forward one too many times and that it's Hanzo's turn to come to him. The gamble pays off when Hanzo, after yet another of Jesse's cheeky waves, forgoes his trek to the outcropping and walks up to Jesse’s stand instead.

“Hey there,” Jesse drawls, leaning over the wooden arm rest and tilting up his straw hat for a better view. “Lookin’ real good today, Hanzo.”

“Mr. McCree,” Hanzo smirks. “Would you care to join me for another daiquiri on your break?”

“Can’t say no to that,” Jesse smirks back. “Only it better be something mild this time. Last one I had,” Jesse slides his bottom lip between his teeth, still grinning, “Really knocked the wind outta me.”

Hanzo’s blushing continues to thrill, especially when combined with those sleek, knowing eyes. “And here I thought you could take your drink.”

“Everything in moderation, darlin’.”

Hanzo begins to turn, eyes dancing. “Then perhaps it’s my turn to take it.” He walks away, leaving Jesse to his own burning cheeks.

Hanzo’s build isn’t just for show, apparently; when Jesse gets him back in the fitting rooms, he fucks him with Hanzo’s flexible legs wrapped around his waist, taking at least half the work off of Jesse holding him up. Jesse gives as much as he can that way, but both of them want it to last this time, and so they end with Jesse sitting on the stool with Hanzo riding astride, muffling his own sounds into Jesse’s throat until Jesse pushes in a finger alongside his own cock and Hanzo comes shaking all over his belly. They kiss for a long time after they've cleaned up, simply enjoying the feel of the other's lips in their little pocket of privacy.

“Hanzo,” Jesse whispers afterwards, feeling as hypnotized as he was by the sea. _“Hanzo.”_

“Jesse,” Hanzo whispers back, amused, but similarly hypnotized enough to at least drag his lips across Jesse’s mouth with slow, aimlessly affection.

“You wanna,” Jesse swallows, finds his voice again, “I, uhh… You wanna get dinner tonight?”

It’s not a bold request considering all they've done thus far, but Hanzo's long pause fills Jesse with dread all the same. “Yes,” Hanzo finally answers. “When?”

“Uhh. Meet back here at eight?”

Again, Hanzo hesitates. “...Yes.”

Good enough.

They part with similarly abrupt words, but Jesse leaves with even more air beneath his wings. What he’s doing is worth much more than a strong reprimand from Gabe, but the prospect of getting to know Hanzo better over food truck tacos is worth a court martial.

Passing hours and nagging doubts do, eventually, make Jesse guilty enough to put a call in to Blackwatch the second he gets back to his bungalow.

“Jesse?”

“Hey, boss,” Jesse drawls. He drops his things on his kitchen table and opens the fridge to find a beer. “How’s it hangin’?”

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothin’s wrong. What could be wrong?” Jesse congratulates himself on not sounding panicked at all, but he wouldn’t put it past Gabe to figure out what Jesse’d been up to without Jesse’s knowing.

“Then why are you calling?”

“To check-in! It’s been awhile.”

“It’s been ten minutes.”

Jesse makes a face to no one as he pops open his beer. “What’re you talkin’ about?”

“We just spoke ten minutes ago. What are _you_ talking about?”

Jesse takes a big swig of beer, rolling his eyes. “This is a weird joke, Gabe. Even for you.”

“I’m not joking, shithead.”

That tone usually doesn’t accompany Gabe’s jokes, but Jesse can’t quite wrap his mind around any other alternative. He flips on the TV and falls into his chair out of habit. “It’s been like… it’s been over a week, I’m pretty sure. Hard to keep track of the days, y’know how it is when there’s no action. I just—”

He stops talking as his eyes land on the date in the lower right-hand corner of the 24-hour news: 5:20am, June 9th.

The day before his first day as a lifeguard.

“What the fuck,” Jesse mutters.

“What’s going on? The fuck do you mean, ‘over a week?’ Are you feeling okay, Jess?”

Jesse doesn’t answer. He looks at his phone, but the date is the same as the one on the TV. “Haven’t you been getting my texts?”

“The last text I got from you was,” Gabe’s voice fades as he leans away from his phone to look at it, “‘That's way too fucking early to be pretending to be a lifeguard.’”

Jesse stares at the digital clock on his phone as he replays the start of his mission out-loud: a transport dropped him off just outside of town on June 9th at eighteen-hundred hours. He made his way to the rental near the beach, got a few hours shut-eye, then headed out at 5:00am on the dot.

Gabe is silent for a while. “How long does it take you to walk down to the beach?”  
  
“I dunno… Less than ten minutes.”

“So you left the rental at 5am that first night, and now it’s… 5:24am. Have you gone anywhere else during that time?”

“No. Been goin’ from the bungalow to the beach and back for over a week.”

“The time discrepancy may be due to your travel-time.”

“What’re you gettin’ at?”

"The target was studying teleportation engineering before they started raiding archaeological sites with Talon. It’s not a stretch to think that they were last spotted at that beach because they were researching its abnormal temporal properties.”

“Hold up. You think the beach is some kinda time warp?”

“If you haven’t spent time anywhere else, then yeah. I mean… no, wait, Moira is nodding at me. So, yeah.”

Jesse leans back into the chair. He doesn’t feel any different. The sun certainly rose and fell on the beach in the same way. He’s definitely checked his phone’s clock while he was there, and it always seemed to work. But now he’s looking at it, and Gabe is confirming…

“Shit!” Jesse jumps up from his seat.

“What now?” Gabe barks.

He has to be back at the beach by 8pm to meet Hanzo, but when in the hell is 8pm?

“Just hit my toe on the table,” Jesse mutters, already stripping on his way to the bathroom. “I’ll try to dig up more info on the time situation. Over and out.” He ends the call and tosses the phone onto his bed before marching into the shower.

Approximately one hour later (he stared at his phone the entire walk over), Jesse is standing at the pier entrance in his usual jeans, boots and red flannel. The sky is still a dusky light-blue: not yet totally dark. His phone now says 5:32am. There’s no one around; none of the shops have opened and there isn’t one food truck to be found.

Should he go to the beach? But won’t that just stop time again, and it’ll just be 5:45am or some shit by the time he gets back here? He can’t just stay in his bungalow until night—he still has a job to do—but what if he accidentally stands Hanzo up?

Jesse groans, scuffing his boot heel on the dry wood as he turns to face the beach not three-minutes away. He’d been too dick-matized to ask for Hanzo’s number or give his own, and now he stands a good chance of ruining things before they even start. Hanzo doesn’t seem like the type to tolerate this level of rudeness.

But he has no choice. Jesse heads back to his rental, passes out, then wakes with his alarm: 5:30am.

What the _fuck._

Swearing the whole time, he dresses for work and makes tracks for the beach. It looks the same as it does every morning: chairs folded up, umbrellas tied. Trash leftover from some teenagers’ nightly escapades. Jesse goes about his morning duties with mounting paranoia, his mind tripping over itself to explain any of it. He’s been around technology so advanced that it may as well be magic for most of his life, but he’s never heard of anything like this. Even Genji’s dragon makes more sense than a beach-out-of-time. He’s always assumed the dragon was some kind of secret Shimada tech anyway; Lord knows that family could afford their own R&D department.

As morning marches on and people start showing up, Jesse keeps his eyes peeled for Hanzo. He expects to see that flash of blue any second, to the point where it's hard to take a bathroom break, fearing he might miss him. But every time he returns to his post, the rocky outcropping is bare, save for the seagulls who seem to miss the fisherman who sometimes shares his catch.  
  
Jesse rubs his chest as he begins to nurture a tiny seed of despair. He might never see Hanzo again. What if whatever time distortion has him in its tracks keeps him locked inside forever? What if he's permanently out of time, like Lena was?  
  
Hanzo doesn't show up all day. As closing time nears, Jesse watches the people as they leave. Most of them he recognizes as regulars—mostly old people, with only a few kids and a smattering of young adults—and none of them give any indication that anything is wrong. They get in their cars and drive away until it's only Jesse on the beach, sitting on his perch, wondering if that's the same sun that set yesterday.

**Author's Note:**

> I didn't come up with "dick-matized" btw; that gem comes from Katya Zamolodchikova on the youtube series "I Like to Watch."
> 
> also those lil chapter breaks are supposed to be the sun setting. it made ME happy. so,


End file.
